


Requiem

by Moriavis



Category: Gundam Wing
Genre: Character Death, M/M, POV First Person, Post-Series, Pretentious, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-15
Updated: 2016-02-15
Packaged: 2018-05-20 17:56:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6019624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moriavis/pseuds/Moriavis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Death changes everything.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Requiem

**Author's Note:**

> This was my very first fanfic from way back in 2002. Perhaps there are some people left who might enjoy it.

~*~

That's it. With Relena's words, its all over.

"Holy shit! It's all over now, isn't it?"

Trust Duo Maxwell to be the first one to express what the rest of us are thinking.

"Mission accomplished," Heero states calmly, his voice cool and distant.

"Praise Allah," Quatre whispers. "Peace. True peace."

Peace, all because of Relena, former Queen of the World turned Vice Minister, who is sacrificing as much now as we have since we entered the war. Our battle has ended, although hers is just beginning.

I pity her.

But us, the gundam pilots...we all get to rest and find our ways in a world that has drastically changed overnight for each of us. What will we do? What will _I_ do?

"What will you do, Wufei?" Quatre asks excitedly; apparently we share the same path of thought.

"The world will always need justice. Since I have no home to return to, I will continue to protect that virtue here on Earth." Wufei says, his eyes thoughtful, implacable.

"I want to return to L2 and help out my old neighborhood," Duo volunteers. "What are you going to do, Heero, now that there's no need for a perfect soldier anymore?"

"Baka," Heero grunts before looking down at his worn shoes. "I don't know."

"Oh, come on. You're probably going to sit here and be Relena's bodyguard. You _know_ she'll love _that_!" he adds slyly, slinging an arm around the Japanese boy's shoulder.

Heero shrugs out of Duo's grasp and turns, opening his mouth when, as always, good-natured Quatre runs head-on to play mediator. "You're lucky you get to decide what to do. I have to go home and run Winner Corporation."

Only Quatre would think of it as an imposition to have hundreds of followers and twenty-something sisters. I lean back into the shadows closest to me, listening and watching, perhaps hoping to absorb some of the happiness that the rest have acquired. Old habits die hard, I guess. I'm most comfortable directly in the spotlight with children laughing at my clownish antics, or when I am most myself, in the dark. It sounds as if they all have plans, their own lives already mapped out.

"What about you, Tro?" Duo asks. "Whatcha gonna do?"

What _am_ I going to do? I certainly can't impose myself on whatever new life they create. Trowa Barton's existence has been completed. The war has been won and we are now ruled by a kind and generous 'Queen'. Who am I now? Do I remain Trowa, or should I once again take on the mantle of what I've always been? Nanashi? Who do I become? Do I go back to Cathy and the safe life of the circus, to pretend to be the lost Triton Bloom for the rest of my life? I don't even know if that's a lie or not. Am I to start a new being in me now that the only life I've ever really known is over?

"Well?" Duo asks, snapping his fingers in front of my eyes. "Tro, you in there?"

Oh, damn. "What I plan to do—" Think, nanashi, or he'll never leave you alone—I smile, just the slight tilt of my mouth that seems to endear me to everyone who sees it, and turn to walk down the sidewalk. Inspiration hits me, and I toss over my shoulder "—is get an ice cream."

Duo glows, a wide smile appearing on his face. "I know the _perfect_ place!" he declares enthusiastically. "Come on! Q-man's treat!" Duo clings to Quatre and gives him his sweetest smile.

Quatre laughs, nodding his head. "Lets!"

Close call; Duo always throws me off guard. Even Wufei and Heero are coming without a complaint. Perhaps I should be spontaneous more often, if it makes everyone happy. But I might as well be honest with myself, even if it isn't with anyone else...

I watch as Duo keeps up the animated chatter, as if he could draw us all onward step by reluctant step by sheer force of will alone.

...I suggested ice cream so that I could see him shine. I remember vaguely in a conversation where Duo dramatically declared his love of the frozen delight, even though he 'usually' didn't give in to his sweet tooth. Why can't I remember the exact conversation? No matter. At least Duo can pretend to be a normal child, and at least I get to watch him. His violet eyes take on a previously unseen luminescence and his long hair captures the sunlight, caressed with a multitude of brilliant rainbow highlights. He is beautiful when he's happy. I fight the urge to smile wryly as I trail behind the rest of the pilots, the irony of my feelings simply that—extremely ironic. I see the way Heero looks at Duo when he thinks the braided boy isn't looking. My love isn't nearly that pure. So I cling to my pride—I have no right to destroy the delicate emotion growing between them.

We step into an ice cream parlor that Duo frantically points out, and I'm stunned by the amount of choices. Triple almond fudge? Blueberry Wafflecone? Strawberry/Kiwi Delight? Am I the only one having a hard time coming to a decision? It seems so, considering everyone is looking at me impatiently.

"What do you want, Trowa?" Quatre asks, his aqua eyes turning cheerful and curious.

"I—I don't know." I confess with an embarrassed grin. "I've never had ice cream before."

"You never..." Duo's eyes widen in horror.

"How is that possible?" Heero asks. "Duo always has some in the refrigerator."

"I never touched it." I murmur. "It was his."

"You never had any at the circus?" Quatre asks, and I shrug.

"It never seemed important. That's why I wanted to try it now."

Duo straightens, his eyes narrow and serious. "Leave it to me," he vows. "I'll have you addicted to ice cream before we leave."

Should I be frightened...? I shrug, stepping away and finding an empty booth, sliding into it as I take a deep breath. So this is what freedom is like...or aimlessness. Strange how life can be one and the same.

My friends make it to the booth and Duo hands me my ice cream cone with a flourish. I take it, eyeing it suspiciously but not wanting to hurt his feelings. I lick at it experimentally, closing my eyes. Fresh, cool mint blends in almost perfectly with sensual chocolate, warming as it slides down my throat in one silky movement. Mmmm...is that sound me?

My eyes fly open, and I find myself the object of two grins, one arched eyebrow, and one noncommittal grunt. What was I sounding like? I refuse to blush. Instead, I raise the cone slightly and offer another small grin. So this is what Duo's always talking about. This is good. Now I feel like an abstract God—he made ice cream and saw that it was good.

"What's so funny?" Duo demands, glaring at me in a struggle to look mischievously inquisitive and threatening at the same time. "Trowa's got the giggles today, people!"

"Smiles are hardly giggles," Wufei points out logically.

"I was thinking about God's thoughts." I declare softly, surprising myself by answering Duo's question.

"Huh?"

"More like: He made ice cream and saw that it was good." Duo gapes at me for a second before grinning, shaking his head as he laughs; the rest just look at me oddly. I shrug; it doesn't matter if they understand my humor or not. Sometimes I don't understand it myself.

"Don't you get it?" Duo asks, looking expectantly at the others. "On the first day, God separated light from dark and saw that it was good...?" Duo shrugs at their looks. "Sorry, Tro, I guess it's just a Catholic thing."

"You're Catholic, Trowa?" I can tell Quatre was practically waiting to pry open the opportunity to ask a question about me.

"It was just a thought that occurred to me. You have a lot of religious texts in your library. I read a few of them."

"Oh.you never really said what you were going to do now that the gundams have been destroyed. If it isn't any bother, you can come and work with me. I'll need all the help I can get." Quatre states hopefully.

"No, I don't think so. I have some important things to do." Like find out who I am. Quatre looks away, crestfallen, and I turn my head with a sense of resignation, finding Wufei staring at me darkly, anger pulsing within the shadows of his eyes. I look away and take another bite of ice cream. I'm not as blind as everyone thinks I am—I know Quatre's in love with me. But there's nothing that I can do but break his heart anyway. It would be best for everyone if Wufei just told Quatre how he feels.

Why must relationships continue to form from war? Soldiers aren't supposed to form any lasting romantic bonds for a fellow comrade-in-arms. It figures that we would manage to throw that rule completely out the window. Quatre is my best friend, and I have no desire to hurt him, but I don't love him like he loves me. I wish I could—things would be so much simpler. Wufei still hasn't broken his 'I hate you' stare, and Duo is trying too hard to look somewhere other that Wufei and I. It's amazing how one innocent comment can ruin a mood. Guilt roils in my stomach, and I sigh, getting up, tossing the remainder of my cone in the trash can closest to me. "Thank you," I tell Quatre.

"Don't worry about it, Trowa," Quatre smiles. "My pleasure."

I nod and head toward the door, hearing the sounds of rising behind me. Why do they feel the need to follow me just because I'm leaving? Maybe it's _because_ I'm leaving. When we separate, it really will be time to start our lives over again, and perhaps they are afraid—I am too. War is all we have known, and together we are a symbol that we were not truly alone with our missions, that we had a higher purpose as soldiers fighting for a better world. Without each other, we'll discover how little we actually have in our lives. Even if it _is_ a step that we'll have to take eventually, right now we are only scared little boys clinging to the reality that has always been so calmly presented to us. Who knows what we will lose? And who knows what we have already lost.

"You're not going to disappear on us, are you, Trowa?" Duo once again,still licking at his double-scoop cone, the heart of our group, while Quatre is our soul. I loathe self-doubt, but here, amongst my own kind, I feel it the strongest. I mean, Heero is our dedication, and Wufei is our virtue. But I...I am simply nanashi.

I shake my head, stepping out into the cool autumn air in an attempt to banish my dark thoughts. I concentrate on breathing in—I love how seasons taste different when they aren't artificially maintained by atmospheric controllers. "No," I state absently, lifting a hand to catch a falling leaf. The color is amazing against my pale skin—warm gold and fiery crimson. "I'm not going to disappear. But I am going to walk."

"Walking is good," Wufei agrees quietly. "It clears the mind and refreshes the soul."

"Some minds need clearing more than others." Despite Heero's indifferent tone, he looks pointedly at Duo, who gapes at him.

"Whoo! Heero makes a joke! Write this down on the calendar! Do it again!"

"Which calendar should we put it on?" Um..Quatre isn't serious about writing it down, is he?

"Earth standard, of course, Q-man!"

"Note to self: Heero made a joke on Ocober 5, AC 200."

Note to self: Where the hell did Quatre get a recording device for casual use?

Duo howls with laughter, hugging Quatre. "Priceless! See that, Heero? It's immortalized forever!" I shake my head, putting one foot in front of the other to jump start my companions.

"At least until I get the cassette and destroy it," Heero replies as he falls into step.

"And that won't be until I've made copies!" Quatre adds, smiling innocently. We all laugh. Good, healing laughs.

It's over—it's really over. We won't have to fight anymore. There won't be any more killing. Suddenly, it doesn't matter who Trowa Barton is, or who he'll become—I'll no longer have to be a murderer. I can grow up again—I can find out who I am, and not waste time regretting who I was.  
"It's really over," I whisper.

"Yes," Heero answers, just as quietly. "It's really over."

"There's so many things I want to do: go to an amusement park, have a barbecue, count cars—"

"Count cars? Who'd wanna count cars?" Duo looks incredulously at me, freezing in mid-step.

"Ah..." Now I know why I don't speak very often. My foot has a habit of ending up in my mouth. "Cathy told me that she did it once. She said it was fun...but you don't count everyone that comes by—only certain ones." I trail off. Now that I think about it, why _would_ anyone want to count cars? It sounds like a waste of time.

"Let's do it," Wufei shrugs.

"It sounds like fun!" Duo exclaims.

I frown. "You are insane."

"You only live once, ne? I can spare a few to count cars!" This really sounds stupider by the minute. So much for my spontaneity being amusing. I restart my walking and glance at the road.

"So, what should we look for?"

"Pink!" Duo...

"Yellow." Now Heero? Oh my God, what have I done?

"I've created a monster," I groan.

"We should look for silver," Wufei declares with a nod of his head. "At least that way there'll be something to count." We look down the road curiously, noting red, blue, green, and even an orange car before a silver one appears. Three silver vehicles in seven minutes. Catherine, why did you tell me this was fun? We walk underneath a sign and I stretch, allowing the tips of my fingers to brush the underside of the pole, when a sound zings past me and everything fragments.  
I hear Duo shout Quatre's name before instinct takes over and I grab the pole, pulling my body in tightly and providing the smallest target possible. I grit my teeth as pain sears along my side. After a long moment, when the bullets cease to fly and I see a black sedan skidding into a side street, I arch down from my perch and freeze.

There's blood everywhere. Quatre is holding tightly to his shoulder and Wufei is wincing as he pulls himself off of the pavement and puts pressure on his leg wound. And Duo...Duo.. My heart leaps into my throat. His skin is white, strands of his chestnut hair trailing on the ground and staining a deep rust. Blood is slowly forming a puddle around him, trickling off from near invisibility on black to blinding scarlet on cement.

"Duo!" Heero shouts; the world seems to swell around me—it looks as if he only got grazed on his ear. Heero pulls his partner close, a small moan escaping his lips as he pushes back Duo's hair. I don't think he even realizes he made a sound. My stomach drops to my feet, and I find myself unable to move, glued to the spot. The world contracts to Heero and the blood—everything's sparkling but it's dark around the edges. Crystalline paths are making their way down Heero's cheeks, painful to see as he gazes down, and I want to look away, but I can't.

Duo coughs, a grin splitting his lips. "Oh, wow. Heero Yuy is crying. This is definitely one for the record books." He promptly faints. Sirens sound in the distance; someone has already called for an ambulance. Innocence is so fragile—it shatters as easily as an ice cream cone on the pavement. The war is over. There isn't supposed to be anymore pain. We weren't supposed to be hurt anymore. But if that's the truth, why do I hurt so much?

~*~

Heero and I were the only ones who didn't get hit with a bullet. He has three stitches on his ear, and I have seven stitches on my side. Quatre took one in the shoulder and one in the hand, Wufei took two in the leg. They got out of surgery several hours ago. Heero and I sit in the waiting room quietly, exhausted by a night of worry and a night of answering the mind-numbing questions of the authorities. They don't even know if we were shot at because we were the gundam pilots or if it was just a random crime we were unfortunate enough to be caught in.

I glance at Heero, my sometime-rival who doesn't even know it, and sigh. I don't even know how to comfort him. Hey, Heero, at least Duo's not dead! He only took about five bullets in several odd places. You really should complain to the scientists--they could have taught him to move faster! That'll last the one second Heero needs to put a bullet in my head. Because he did move fast, shielding Quatre and Wufei. If he hadn't been there, their injuries would have been much worse. I shift slightly—waiting is the worst thing. 18 hours in surgery and counting.

"Heero, it's not your fault."

He shakes his head. "I should have seen it. I should have stopped it."

"We're terrorists," I murmur. "Not omniscient." Heero lowers his head. I remain silent. Seconds crawl into minutes, and minutes crawl by into hours, until a tired looking man in a white coat comes out of the operating room. Heero and I glance at each other—this one took Duo's case.

"Well?" Heero asks impatiently, his voice cracking slightly. I wince at the sound. "Is Duo okay?" At the doctor's look, Heero scowls. "Is he all right?"

"We've gotten three out of the five bullets out of him with minimal damage." The doctor rubs his eyes. "However, the last two are lodged in his head, one resting against the cerebellum and dangerously close to a nerve cluster that could cause irreparable harm to his motor functions if damaged. The other is in the Occipital lobe of the brain. He's stable for now, until we get more experienced physicians to handle the delicate neurosurgery he needs. They're being flown in now."

"I want to see him." Heero demands.

"That's not wise. I don't know when the specialists are coming in, but we'll need your friend in immediate pre-op and—"

"I want to see him," Heero growls, and the doctor steps back.

"You won't want to!" the doctor declares, stiffening at Heero's glare. He continues in a firm tone. "He's heavily drugged. You won't like what you see. He's burning off the anesthetic at a high rate. If he wakes up, he has a chance of lucidity. But, fortunately, it's not likely. Do you understand?"

"Yes." I never thought that I could ever see this much determination in Heero's eyes. It's more frightening than his determination in battle.

"He's in Room 115. You can only stay for a minute."

Heero nods once, brusquely, and he's off. I look at the doctor's nametag and swallow. "What are Duo's chances, Dr. Onomoto?"

"Not very good, I'm afraid. If he survives, he's going to be blind and there's a 65% chance he'll be quadriplegic." Dr. Onomoto's face crumples. "God, he's so young. I don't understand how people can hurt each other like this..." he chokes. "Excuse me. I have things I need to do before the neurosurgeons come." He walks away from me so fast it's almost a run. I don't blame him—I wouldn't want to be the bearer of bad news either. Heero comes quietly out of Duo's room, slightly gray around the edges, and sits down, tension in his every line. He takes a deep breath, pauses, releases, repeats. I look down at the floor, allowing Heero his privacy.

"I love him." Heero's voice surprises me. Why does he choose to say his words to me, of all people?

"I know."

He stares down at his shoes miserably. "I should have said something. And now it's too late...."

I remain silent, and after a few moments, I manage the courage for my own visit.

Duo looks worse than I imagined—that long, luxurious hair that he cared for so meticulously is gone; his cheeks are gaunt and shadowed; the beeping of the machines replace his quiet heartbeat. He's pale and emaciated, so undeniably frail, as if he's sunken in on himself. He looks as if he's dying. Maybe he is.

I make my way to his side, looking down on him as tears blur my vision and slowly make their way down my cheek. It looks as if he's already gone and just waiting for his body to follow him. I remember a poem—a fragment really, but it is one of the loves that Quatre has managed to instill in me—so reminiscent of this moment. I kneel, grasping that delicate hand as gently as possible, the sound of my voice surprising me once again.

"Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray. Do not go gentle into that good night. Rage, rage against the dying of the light." A dry chuckle steals my breath.

"Quoting poetry to me now, eh?" Duo chokes out, his eyes bleary. "What's next?"

"You shouldn't even be awake, Duo," I state, and he shivers, his head lolling on his neck as he giggles softly.

"Was awake when Heero came in...too tired to...talk."

"You shouldn't be talking right now," I say, my tears splashing against the back of his hand. "Save your strength."

"Tears, now? This is...a day for...records. Both Heero and...Trowa crying..." That awful dry laugh again. Now I know why Heero had to talk to me after seeing Duo..like this. To carry the burden of love and let it fester deep down inside of you, watching, waiting—believing that this is your fault. I understand him now. It's the worst feeling in the world.

"You have to get better, Duo," I whisper. "Please. For me." His violet eyes blink owlishly in the light, his mouth opened in shock. "I can't let you go without saying...without saying that I love you, and that Heero loves you too." Oh, god, why did I say that—Duo has enough on his shoulders and Heero should have said that and I can't believe—wasn't I not going to say anything? And guilt becomes my new burden—Heero _should_ have been the one to speak.

"Oh." he answers. "Oh. Tro...why is it so dark in here?"

Dark? I look around the bright room. How could he think—oh. He has a bullet in his Occipital lobe. The vision centers are damaged. "The nurses thought it would be better for you, since you just got out of surgery and they didn't know when the anesthetic would wear off. You're bound to have some sensitivity to light."

"Okay. How are Qua..Fei?"

"They're fine...sleeping in their room. You saved them."

"Pro'bly didn't need help..stupid me getting in the way." he grips my hand weakly. "We'll talk when I get better." he grins. "Promise."

"You have to survive," I tell him, squeezing back.

"I will," he smiles again. "Shinigami never die." He passes back out again. I sit there, locked by some invisible force at his side. Blind. Broken. Dying. Words that I would not have associated with Duo mere hours ago have now become ingrained in my mind as deeply as his laughter. Is is fair to expect him to live like this? Is this even living at all? Gods can be so cruel. My hand hovers above the machinery, the life support that takes over the job of living when Duo's unconscious. It could be so painless for him right now, so simple. One motion, and he will go to a better place.

But my own weakness and need hold me back. My hand drops, and I stand up, wiping at my tears, backing away from the hospital bed. I'm sorry that I can't do this one thing for you.

After all, I think as I leave the room. Shinigami might never die, but Duo Maxwell is only too mortal.

~*~

The neurosurgeons come, and Duo is once again wheeled into the operating room as Heero and I remain in much the same way as we passed the rest of the night. I'm stiff, all my muscles aching and I rub my neck as I drink a cup of battery acid hospital coffee. A few sips and the cup goes into the trash can. Not even I can drink something so radioactive.

I don't want to remember Duo as he was in that sterile blank hospital room, his soul slowly leaving his body until there was almost nothing left. Memories come to my mind--Duo getting bored and forcing us to play Truth or Dare—one of the few days we didn't have a mission and he found an untouched field, where we all laid down in the grass and played Tag the entire day—the time I saw him praying to God to bring us all home safely, and then asking God to send down the angel Gabriel to kick my butt for destroying Deathsycthe—the time when rain flooded the area surrounding our safehouse and he danced in the tears of the sky—his laughter ringing through the halls and his endless chatter as he tried to fill the silence that seemed to frighten him so...  
I sit back in my chair; my eyes are drooping with exhaustion—I wish I had Heero's training so that I could push it all away and wait, but I can't...I just... A single yawn appears on my lips, and my eyelashes flutter down, capturing me in sleep.

Something wakes me up with a start, and I look around before seeing Heero standing in front of me.

"Any news?" my voice is raspy with sleep and I clear my throat, sitting up.

"No," Heero looks exhausted, dark shadows deepened underneath his eyes. "I didn't want to wait alone."

"How long—"

"Six hours."

"And they're—"

"Still."

I nod, standing up, arching as my back vehemently complains of the position that I had slept in. I don't feel rested at all. "Wufei and Quatre should know what's going on." Heero nods and heads off to their room.

There are times when I pity him as much as I pity Relena. We have all lost so much. "Heero?" he looks back at me, a slight flinching motion. "Duo woke up, and I told him." I didn't need to say any more. Heero knew.

"I know." Pause. "You love him, too."

How could he know that? I left absolutely—oh. "I didn't eavesdrop on you, Heero."

"I wanted to hear his voice again." Heero turns into the room Wufei is sharing with Quatre, and we find them both awake.

"Heero, Trowa!" Quatre exclaims, sitting up. "What's going on? No one's willing to tell us anything new."

"Duo's in surgery again," Heero answers, and Quatre swallows loudly.

"How is he?" Wufei asks. I look down, taking a chair next to Quatre's bedside.

"He was burning through the anesthetic at an unbelievable rate." I volunteer. Heero shouldn't have to be the only one to share his pain. It would be selfish. "He awoke briefly—hopefully that's good. But we won't know until he comes out of surgery just how bad he'll be."

"He promised you he'd live." Everyone hears the slight accusation in his voice, and I sigh, rubbing my face.

"He said—" I stress. "—that _Shinigami_ never die."

"Well," Quatre says uncertainly. "He thinks of himself as Shinigami. It's the same thing."

I can't think of anything to say, so I don't speak. Why bother denying their accusations when it won't change what they're thinking? "If he survives, he will be blind, and worse, there's a 65% chance he'll never walk again." I say instead. They all stare at me.

"When did you hear this?" Heero asks quietly.

"The doctor told me while you were visting Duo."

"Why didn't he tell me?"

"I probably looked the most level-headed." I state coolly.

Heero glares at me, his eyes tense with fatigue and many other emotions that I don't care to name. There is a knock on the door, and I close my eyes. If Duo's Shinigami is merciful, he will take Duo into his arms and spare him a life of nonliving, as I could not. Dr. Onomoto opens the door, cool and composed. "I'm sorry," he declares, and everyone breaks. Quatre throws his arms around me, sobbing loudly; Wufei lowers his eyes, offering a Chinese prayer for Duo's soul, and Heero sinks to his knees, his eyes dark, tears streaming down his cheeks as he pounds the floor.

I'm the only one who doesn't cry. My tears are not a fitting memorial to you, Death, who loved life so well.

Dr. Onomoto murmurs something about complication during surgery and offers his condolences, a pale comfort. His useless words don't make me feel any better, so instead I lose myself in the memories I have of the one I loved. May you be at peace.

~*~

The funeral takes place on an abnormally sunny day, the trees a deep forest green swaying gently in a sweet breeze. God will be pushed away if he tries to court our jester, but I have no doubt that Shinigami will be accepted by a complete embrace of heart and soul. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust, and our friend is lowered, never again to see the sunlight or the rain.

Wufei leads Quatre away, and Relena stands quietly with Heero, allowing him to take his time to mourn. Relena never cared for Duo—it's obvious she's just here to make sure that Heero won't hurt himself.

Finally, there is me, alone with the echo of his ghost. I never could give an appropriate memorial to those I cared about. I sit at his graveside and take my flute out, lovingly placing each piece in its place and testing a few notes for its tuning.

This is the last thing I can do for you, I think as flutesong fills the air. Maybe this is worthy of you. And this last declaration.

I will become someone whom Duo Maxwell could have loved.

Trowa Barton dies with you.

The song floats off into silence, and I drop that silver instrument into the moist ground as my gift to Duo's journey.

Then I walk away to begin my own.

~*~


End file.
